


The Apprentice

by fromthewildwood



Series: Grandmaster and Apprentice [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Duelling, Faeries - Freeform, Gen, Misguided Dumbledore, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:44:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1279927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthewildwood/pseuds/fromthewildwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having realized that he desperately needs to learn to defend himself, and disillusioned with Lockhart's Duelling Club, Harry finds himself a proper teacher; none other than retired Grandmaster Filius Flitwick. Increasingly AU. Part 1 of Grandmaster and Apprentice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> So I started writing this years and years ago and got a few chapters in before letting it lapse (school and work and life and all that). But I'm hoping to find time to get back to work soon and thought I'd cross-post here in preparation - I hope you enjoy!

The morning after Lockhart’s aborted attempt at a Duelling Club, Harry woke to the news that the snow that begun late last night had turned into a blizzard. As he looked outside the dormitory window swirling with thick grey snow, Harry could just see the schools grounds carpeted so thick with snow that it came halfway up the walls of Hagrid’s cabin.

Pulling on several baggy jumpers, Harry made his way downstairs into the Gryffindor common room and headed over to the notice board, where a hastily posted notice stated that his Herbology class had been cancelled. Given the state of the grounds, Harry was hardly surprised; the only people who might consider going out in this kind of weather were Hagrid and Professor Sprout, in the most part because they had no choice.

Content to settle in and laze around until Transfiguration that afternoon, Harry left the noticeboard and settled himself down by the fire, hoping it might restore some feeling to his toes and feet.

Gazing into the hearth and watching the dancing flames, Harry tried to distract himself from the cold by thinking back to the look on Lockhart’s face last night as he went flying down the duelling platform and into the wall.

As much as Harry hated Snape, he couldn’t deny that it had been absolutely brilliant watching Lockhart get taken down a peg like that. But thoughts of the greasy git blasting Lockhart into a wall soon turned to what had happened next, and the leaden lump that had settled in Harry’s stomach the previous night returned.

Not only did he apparently possess an ability linked with the Dark Arts, but the whole school was now convinced that he was the Heir of Slytherin and the Hufflepuffs thought he was a raving loon.

Last night he’d decided to apologize to Justin for the misunderstanding in Herbology, but it now seemed that wasn’t going to happen. Briefly, Harry considered trying to find Justin before realizing that the chances of that weren’t great given the weather and the size of the castle, let alone the fact that Justin’s friends would be playing security detail. Justin would probably be heading home for the Christmas break, which would give him time to cool off, and Harry could find him and explain next term when he got back.

Thinking about next term, Harry idly wondered whether or not Lockhart’s so-called ‘Duelling Club’ would continue to meet after the Christmas holidays. Given how much of an utter debacle it had been, he supposed not.

It was a shame really; Seamus had been right – Duelling lessons might very well come in handy one of these days.

They certainly would have been a welcome resource during his encounter with Quirrell at the end of last year; Harry would much have preferred to defend himself with his wand than burn someone to death with his bare hands. And even last night they would have meant an alternative to revealing his new-found talent as a Parseltongue to most of the school.

Given that Professor Dumbledore had seemed convinced that Voldemort would continue to try and return to power, in fact, Harry thought that getting Duelling lessons was starting to sound more and more like an excellent idea.

But the question was where to get them; Dumbledore had made it very clear that he thought that there was a time and place to tell Harry anything, and Duelling lessons sounded like something else that he couldn’t know until  _‘one day, when he was ready’_. Lockhart was clearly useless; the bloody git hadn’t even been able to teach him how to defend himself against Draco, let alone an incorporeal Dark Lord, and though Snape seemed competent enough, the greasy git would never agree and Harry wasn’t sure if he would want him to.

Harry racked his brains for another option; another teacher in the school both likely to know how to duel and willing to teach him. Harry’s concentration was broken by the sound of Hermione’s voice as she and Ron settled down and began using their time off to play a game of Wizard’s Chess, and the answer came to him in a flash of memory from last night.

Hermione had said that Flitwick was supposedly a Duelling Champion when he was younger, though Harry found it hard to imagine his kindly Charms Professor even getting angry, let alone duelling someone. Professor Flitwick had always had somewhat of a soft spot for him as well, or at least it seemed that way to Harry; his unexpected support when Malfoy had taunted him about his Nimbus 2000 last year and the excited squeak the gentle man had given when they had first met being two major cases in point.

The one problem, the realization of which broke Harry from his moment of self-congratulation, was how to convince Professor Flitwick to teach him. The Professor was a busy man, and Harry normally had homework to be done, beside which there was no guarantee that Flitwick wouldn’t simply turn him away and tell Dumbledore, or worse encourage him to go to Lockhart.

But the holidays had started, and for just over two weeks Harry had no homework to be done and Flitwick had no classes to teach. If there was ever a chance that Harry could persuade the Professor to teach him, it would be now. Even if he was only given a few lessons, or taught ‘til the start of the next term, Harry knew he would still be better off than he was now.

And there was a chance, albeit a slim one, that Flitwick might actually be willing to take him seriously and teach him duelling on an extended basis.

Now that Harry had a plan of action, all that remained to somehow force himself out of the comfort of his armchair and the warmth of the common room and go forth to make an attempt to enlist Flitwick’s co-operation. Harry walked over to the table where Ron and Hermione were playing and watched as Ron’s queen mercilessly pummelled Hermione’s rook before dragging it off the board.

"I’m going out for a walk." Harry told them, and was met with a puzzled stare from Ron and a distracted nod from Hermione, who seemed to be concentrating very hard on the chessboard, though from the looks of the game it wasn’t making much difference.

"Just don’t be late to Transfiguration," Hermione said distantly. "The last thing you need right now is to annoy Professor McGonagall."

Harry nodded and made his way out the portrait into the corridor, waving to the Fat Lady as he started to make his way towards Flitwick’s Office. The corridors were freezing, and Harry hoped that even if Flitwick wouldn’t teach him to duel, he’d at least agree to teach him how to do a Warming Charm.

Flitwick’s office was the thirteenth room along one of the two corridors that the West Tower and the Owlery sat at the intersection of, Harry knew, but he was unsure as to which corridor it was in. He’d never had reason to visit his Charms Professor before, and Harry was somewhat concerned about getting lost.

With Slytherin’s Monster on the prowl, lingering in the corridors searching for something was hardly the safest of actions, and so Harry quickly turned to the right and headed off in search of the Owlery.

The one advantage to Flitwick living on the Seventh Floor was that failing anything else, Harry could simply keep on walking if he were to get lost and he would eventually find himself back at the foot of Gryffindor Tower.

At least he would in theory; when dealing with the castle, it was sometimes hard to say whether the classrooms and corridors actually were where you thought they were.

The corridors were as cold and deserted as Harry had expected, and he pulled his arms into the oversized sleeves of his multiple jumper-layers for warmth. Shivering slightly, he wandered along the corridor until the corner staircase that led up to the West Tower and then the Owlery came into view.

Walking over to stand by the staircase, Harry turned back the way he came and counted thirteen classrooms away in the opposite direction from the West Tower stairs before trying the door in front of him. The door was unlocked, but all Harry saw when he opened it a crack and peeked through was a dusty old storeroom cluttered with unused junk.

Pulling the door shut again, Harry headed back towards the staircase and began to count doors once again round the corner in the other corridor. The thirteenth door was open again, but all that was inside the room was an empty classroom with a stack of desks in the corner covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs.

This seemed rather odd to Harry; he was sure that Flitwick’s office was along one of these corridors, and thirteen doors down from the Owlery was a direction that had stuck in his head and sounded right enough that he’d assumed that it was correct.

Having checked the thirteenth door in both corridors and found nothing, Harry was quietly concerned that he was losing his mind. He turned around and walked back the way he had come and counted thirteen doors until he found himself standing at the Owlery door facing the corridor that led back to Gryffindor tower.

As Harry walked along wondering exactly how he’d managed to lose his way with possibly the clearest set of instructions in the world, he absently continued to count doors in his head; ten doors, nothing.

Eleven doors, nothing. Twelve doors, nothing. Thirteen doors…

Staring into the cheerful and well-lit room before him, Harry was thankful that Professor Flitwick wasn’t inside, because he was certain that his mouth was hanging open in a fairly humorous fashion.

He had seen this room before not five minutes ago; he had walked up to it and gone inside to find nothing but a room full of junk, and now Harry found himself looking through what he would swear was exactly the same doorframe into a completely different room.

Taking a tentative step forward, Harry’s gaze was caught by the bronze plaque on the door that read;

_**Filius Flitwick** _  
_**Charms Professor** _  
_**Head of Ravenclaw House** _

Harry was as sure that hadn’t been there before as he was that this warm and cozy office had been a storeroom the last time he went inside.

Stepping further into the room, Harry noticed that the room looked like a tornado had hit it; there were sheets of parchment and scrolls scattered all over the chairs and bookshelves and the carpet of paper towers covering the desk swayed back and forth as though ready to fall at any moment.

Professor Flitwick was nowhere to be seen, and so Harry stood just inside the doorway and fidgeted for a minute or two before knocking loudly several times. After a few moments there was no response, so Harry knocked again, and when there was still nothing, he called out.

"Professor Flitwick?"

He received no answer, so Harry found what looked like a chair in the corner of the room and excavated it from under a large stack of papers and books before setting it in front of Flitwick’s desk and settling down to wait.

After a while, things got so boring that Harry started to get a little twitchy. He briefly considered having a look at some of the papers on Flitwick’s desk, before remembering the last time he’d decided to go through someone’s desk and Filch’s rather unnerving reaction, and thinking better of that strategy.

Harry had just resigned himself to a long wait, thankful that he was no longer cold thanks to the warmth of the office even if he was bored and starting to become a little impatience, when he heard footsteps outside the door.

"Mr Potter?" A squeaky voice called out from the doorway. "How did you get in here while I was out unless…" The voice sighed. "I left the door unlocked again didn’t I?"

Turning around, Harry saw Professor Flitwick smiling at him from the doorway, and nodded, feeling a touch unsure of himself and his reason for coming now that he was faced with the reality of actually asking Flitwick for help.

The Professor stepped inside the room and closed the door, pulling off a blue woolen cloak and hanging it on a cloak hook before turning around to consider Harry.

"Well now, for all that your company is not an unwelcome surprise, Mr Potter, I do have to ask; what was it that you wanted?"

Harry could feel his heart pounding in his throat as he swallowed nervously, mouth suddenly dry. Fighting to push the words out, he fought back a rising wave of anxiousness and said as clearly and distinctly as he could.

"I want to learn how to duel, sir."

"What?" Professor Flitwick squeaked, voice incredulous.

"I want to learn how to duel. From you, sir."

"I heard you the first time, Mr Potter, I was simply somewhat surprised. After all, I was under the impression that none of the students knew about my past achievements unless-" Professor Flitwick cut himself off and smiled ruefully. "The brilliant Ms Granger, of course. And I assume Professor Lockhart’s club instigated this desire?"

"Well, yeah." Harry admitted, "But there’s more to it than that. It’s just - what with the Beast of Slytherin running around - and what happened at the end of last year -" Harry’s voice dropped slightly and he half-whispered the next few words, "…and what Hagrid said happened to my parents."

Professor Flitwick was nodding his head sympathetically and his smile was understanding, and so Harry dredged up the courage to go on.

"And so I was thinking that it would be a good idea for me to learn how to defend myself - Merlin knows that git Lockhart is completely useless-" Harry stopped mid-sentence, mortified, "Um, could you forget that last bit and not mention it to him?"

At Flitwick’s nod, he continued.

"School stuff is great but I need to know how to defend myself properly, and I figured you were the only professor who knew how who’d be willing to teach me. Snape - I mean Professor Snape - certainly won’t, and Professor Dumbledore will just tell me I’m not ready yet, and I really need to learn because I nearly got Ron killed last year, and then I nearly died, and Dumbledore said that Voldemort isn’t really dead and I need-"

Harry stopped as Flitwick raised a hand and took a deep breath before pinching the bridge of his nose wearily.

"Mr Potter, until a few minutes ago I thought I would never meet a student who rambled more than your mother. Clearly, I was wrong." Professor Flitwick contemplated the far wall for a moment, before staring at Harry so intensely that he felt like the Professor could see all the way through him, and was examining all the thoughts he had that frightened even him.

"Mr Potter, if I am to agree to this - and that is an  **if**  - then I need to know three things; that you are being honest about why you want to learn this, that you are willing to apply yourself to learning this properly the way you don’t in your classes and that you will treat my knowledge with the utmost seriousness it deserves. If you are not completely convinced of even one of these, then you will tell me now and I won't be angry. But if you aren’t convinced and you attempt to lie to me - and I can assure you it will be nothing more than a failed attempt - then I will be very angry indeed, and you will not like the consequences.”

Professor Flitwick continued to stare Harry down for a few more seconds that felt like an eternity before gentling his gaze, and looking at the bookcases while Harry tried to compose himself and get this breathing and heart rate back under control. When Harry could bear to meet his gaze again, Flitwick’s eyes were as kind and good-humoured as usual, and there was no trace of the menacing stranger that had been glancing out at him only moments before.

Flitwick raised a questioning eyebrow at him, and Harry realized that the professor was still waiting for an answer. He only had to think about it for a bare second before realizing that he was quite happy with the conditions his Charms Professor had put forth. Harry had just opened his mouth to say so when Flitwick nodded with satisfaction.

"No need to say it; I can see in your eyes that you’re quite serious. Your mother wore the same expression when she came to me asking for more complicated Charms in her fifth year."

Harry felt immeasurably nervous; butterflies swarming through his stomach and up his throat as he asked;

"Does that mean you’ll teach me, sir?"

Professor Flitwick’s lips parted in a mischievous grin, and for just a moment Harry could see a faint resemblance to Griphook and believe the rumours that Flitwick was half-Goblin himself.

"Yes, Mr Potter. I do believe it does."


	2. Beginnings

Harry looked up from where he was working on the next few weeks worth of Charms homework and watched Professor Flitwick over the top of the pile of reference books the Professor had pushed on him as soon as they finished their conversation. Flitwick had declared that it would be best for him to get as much of the next term's workload as possible out of the way since he was here and had handed him a scroll with several weeks worth of essay topics and the pile of books and had set him to work.

Over the desk Harry could see Flitwick paging through a thick and heavy book with one hand while scrawling off the occasional note with the other, and when the Professor looked up and their eyes met Flitwick gave him a friendly smile before returning to his book.

Rubbing his eyes and giving his glasses a polish, Harry returned to the first of his essays; twelve inches on the limitations of Engorging Charms and the dangers of applying them to complex mammals. He was paging through the relevant chapter of an anatomy book Flitwick 'just happened' to have lying around and hadn't even begun to structure the essay when he was disturbed by a noise from the corner of the office.

It started off as a soft chime, but even in the few seconds it took for Professor Flitwick to locate his wand and turn it off, the tone had grown significantly more shrill and disruptive. Harry looked at Professor Flitwick questioningly only to see an uncharacteristically grim expression on his professor's normally cheerful face.

The only night he'd seen Flitwick like this before was when Mrs Norris had been discovered petrified, but that could only mean...

"Professor, that can't mean - I mean there hasn't - been another..."

The Professor laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, though his face was still somewhat dark.

"I am afraid, Mr Potter, that it does indeed mean that there has been another attack. Now, Professor Dumbledore is calling for a staff meeting but I'm going to walk you back to Gryffindor Tower first."

But Harry scarcely heard him as his heart began to furiously race. Not a day after he and the school at large had discovered that he was a Parseltongue, while they were all still convinced that he had tried to kill Justin, someone else had been attacked. Professor Snape already had it in for him, and there was no way the Potions master wouldn't take this chance to have him expelled.

After all, Snape had already tried once at the beginning of term, and both he and Professor McGonagall had made it very clear that Harry was treading on thin ice. And after being caught on the scene of Mrs Norris' petrification, even if Professor Dumbledore had believed his innocence then, that was no guarantee that the Headmaster would continue to do so now.

He could feel his breath starting to come faster and faster now, and Harry was beginning to feel light-headed and black spots were starting to dance in his vision. He was so caught up in the rising flood of panic rising through him that he barely registered the pressure of Flitwick's hands squeezing his upper arms and the professor calling out his name.

"...Mr Potter! Mr Potter! Harry!" Flitwick's insistent voice broke through the mind-numbing fear and Harry looked up at him in trepidation. "Harry, my dear child, if you are at all concerned about this being blamed on you, I can assure that any attempt at such will be meet by my immediate corroboration of your presence here this morning."

His heart threatening to rip out of his chest, Harry tried to look away but Flitwick caught his gaze, and stared him down, "Believe me, Mr Potter, I know that you didn't commit this latest attack, nor any of the others, and you will not be punished for something you didn't do. Do you hear me? You will not be blamed!"

Harry felt the overwhelming feeling of dread coiled inside him unwind and relax, and gave Flitwick a weak smile, unsure if he could speak and hoping his thanks were visible in his eyes.

"It's been an enjoyable morning Harry, and I'm sorry it had to end like this. Now, in regards to your request for duelling lessons, I have House issues and marking to deal with this weekend until my Ravens leave for Christmas. I will look forward, therefore, to meeting you here at 11am on Monday morning."

Harry watched in numb silence as Professor Flitwick stowed his wand up his sleeve and retrieved his cloak before ushering him out the door. The gentle pressure of Flitwick's hand on his back was the only thing that kept Harry going as the professor guided him quickly and surely back to the foot of Gryffindor tower.

Harry turned to go inside, feeling like he was sleepwalking, but stopped when Professor Flitwick called out his name. He turned to look back at the professor, who met his gaze with compassion in his eyes.

"No-one you care about will blame you for this, Mr Potter, and anyone you call your friend is sure not to believe the rumours. Now don't forget; 11am on Monday, my office. I'm looking forward to this, so don't disappoint me." Flitwick seemed to be waiting for something, so Harry nodded slowly.

"I won't, sir. And thank you for - everything. Just everything."

The Professor gave him a small smile before turning around and heading down the corridor at a fast walk, raising a hand behind him to wave at Harry, who stood in front of the Fat Lady's portrait for a moment before mumbling the password and going inside.

As soon as Harry stepped inside the common room, he was hit by a speeding bullet as Hermione latched onto him and gave him a bonecrushing hug.

"Oh my goodness Harry, where were you? - I can't tell you how worried I've been - Ron and I were about to sneak off and go look for you-"

"I'm fine, Hermione. I was with Professor Flitwick asking for help with some Charms work." For some reason, Harry felt a strange mixture of unreadiness and unwillingness to let his friends know about his arrangement with Flitwick. Particularly Hermione, who would never leave him alone if she heard about it, and might well insist that he tell Professor McGonagall or Dumbledore and ask permission.

There was also a part of Harry that was very sure that the Professor would prefer if no one but them knew about this arrangement, and so he kept quiet.

"Hermione, what actually happened? All Flitwick told me was that there'd been another attack - who was it?"

Hermione's face fell, and she looked like she was about to cry.

"Harry I'm so sorry - I wish I didn't have to tell you this - but it was Justin. Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Nearly Headless Nick."

Harry felt certain that he was gaping in a most unattractive manner as he tried to make sense of what Hermione was telling him.

"Justin? - and Nearly Headless Nick - but he's a ghost - how? - and Justin - I just - I only just..."

Hermione shook her head despairingly and her hands flopped helplessly down by her sides.

"I know, Harry. And I'm sorry people are so thick but after what happened last night - they're going to think it was you."

Ron, who'd been standing on the sidelines looking unusually pale and subdued, walked over and gave Harry a rough pat on the arm, before admitting;

"I dunno how it happened to Nick. I asked Fred and George, and they've already asked all the Seventh years, and no one has any idea how you'd petrify a ghost. No one's heard of anything like this, so it must be really dark magic."

Harry did his best to give Ron a smile, though it probably came out looking more like a grimace, and patted Hermione on the arm.

"S'okay Hermione. Not your fault people are dumb. And I was with Professor Flitwick the whole time, and he said he'd tell Professor Dumbledore, so I should be fine."

Some of the fear faded from Hermione's face, and she took a deep breath before smiling at him weakly.

"Good - that's good news Harry. Every cloud has a silver lining; at least you're safe."

The conversation died down at that; there seemed little else left to say, and with Nick and Justin petrified in the Hospital Wing it didn't seem right to be talking or playing Wizard Chess like they would normally do.

A few minutes later the parchment on the noticeboard that was enchanted to announce news about classes hummed and glowed softly to announce a new message had come through, which stated that all the afternoon's lessons had been cancelled and that students were to remain in their common rooms while the Professors searched the castle.

Harry was thankful that Transfiguration had been cancelled; it was one of the harder classes, and he expected he would have found it rather hard to concentrate in his current state. Instead, Ron and Hermione settled in the armchairs by the fire beside him and just sat and watched the common room.

With the last class of the term now cancelled, much of Gryffindor house drifted upstairs to their dormitories to pack for the holidays; far more than the number who had initially signed up to go home over Christmas. Harry expected that a flock of owls would be sent out tonight asking for permission to return home over Christmas, and students wanted to be ready when the replies returned so they could get out of the castle.

Everyone had been spooked before due to the initial attacks, but the discovery that whatever was roaming the castle possessed some terrible power that could harm even those who were already dead seemed to have tipped the mood over the edge into panic.

The three friends sat watching the rest of the house hustle and bustle around for the next hour or so, but eventually Harry began to fidget, needing to find something to do before the boredom and his own thoughts drove him insane.

Seemingly in response to his desperation, Hermione disappeared up the stairs into the Girl's Dormitory and came back a few minutes later carrying a copy of their Transfiguration textbook, which she passed to Harry as she began to work on Professor McGonagall's latest essay, making him wonder for a split second if she'd now learnt to read minds before dismissing the thought as ridiculous.

Turning his attention to _The Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ , Harry opened it to the chapter they would probably have covered in class today; turning mice into tea cosies.

For the rest of the afternoon, he immersed himself in the mysteries of why turning a mammal into a woolen object was so much harder than turning an insect into a piece of metal, and was somewhat surprised to find it slightly easier than usual to grasp the material. It all seemed to gel and reinforce what he'd learnt about mammalian anatomy from Flitwick's book earlier.

It seemed that Flitwick's seemingly whimsical possession of an animal anatomy book was not at all as random as Harry had first thought, and Harry resolved to try and borrow the book on Monday in the hopes that it would help him continue to find Transfiguration merely difficult, rather than excruciatingly impossible as he and Ron normally tended to find it.

By the time that Hermione reached over and shook Harry's shoulder to break him out of his trance before she reclaimed her book, Harry had skimmed several lessons ahead of where the class was actually up to, as after mice the book simply continued through demonstrations of transfiguring various other simple rodents then slightly more complex mustelids into increasingly complex and intricate non-living forms.

Harry had reached the part of the section on living-to-non-living transformation that closed with turning a stoat into a scarf and was feeling for the first time that, if he kept doing a little reading each day, he might actually be prepared for Transfiguration when school came back.

As Hermione went upstairs to deposit both the book and her now-finished essay, Harry saw that the enchanted notice had changed again, restoring the usual run of the grounds to the students, and realized that Hermione probably wanted to head down for dinner and Ron-

Quickly looking around for Ron and finding him nowhere to be seen, Harry assumed the redhead had already gone down to the Great Hall, having probably gotten tired very quickly of sitting in silence while he and Hermione read.

Thinking of Ron and his non-existent patience when it came to waiting for mealtimes, Harry smiled and felt a surge of amusement. The feeling stayed with him as Hermione came back down from the Girl's Dormitory and they headed off down to dinner, even through the whispers and surreptitious glances shot at him by the rest of the school as he went through the corridors.

Arriving at the dinner table, Harry gave a small grin at seeing Ron already settled at the table and half-way through demolishing a mountain of food. Taking the seat next to the red-head, Harry absent-mindedly chewed his way through the normal delicious roast beef and potatoes and treacle tart, letting his mind wander to the comforting tune of Ron and Hermione quietly squabbling beside him.

He was surprised, really, how little the stares from the students had bothered him. Certainly the walk from Gryffindor Tower under the weight of all their stares and even the scrutiny he was under now that he could feel from the prickling of the back of his neck bothered him far less than it had right after the Duelling Club.

Perhaps there was something in what Professor Flitwick had said; that the people who mattered were the only ones worth listening to, and they were the ones who would stick by Harry no matter what anyone said anyway.

Dinner was reasonably quiet, at least by Hogwarts standards; with no loud conversations, bangs, or explosions coming from the Weasley Twins or cheerful speculation about the fortunes of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and so despite his new found ambivalence towards the student gossip chain, Harry was feeling fairly subdued by the time dinner ended.

Back in the Gryffindor common room, as Ron and Hermione settled in for a game of Wizard Chess, he was hit by a sense of deja vu, and could almost believe that it was the morning again and he was just about to go see Flitwick and had no idea about Justin or Nearly Headless Nick.

But the moment passed, and Harry begged off Ron's offer of a game, excused himself and made the long climb up to his dormitory alone. Up in the Second Year Boy's Dormitory, he quickly pulled off the many layers he'd been wearing, pulled on a pair of worn pyjamas and crawled into bed.

Under the covers it was nice and warm, and Harry was able to relax in the comfort of his bed and slowly let the events of the day fade away as his eyes slid shut and he drifted off to sleep.

_Harry was standing in the Great Hall, pressed tightly against Professor Lockhart's side. Gripping his arm tightly, Lockhart whispered out the side of his mouth;_

_"Nice big smile, Harry. Together, you and I are worth the front page."_

_Harry looked down as the light of the camera's flash-pan dazzled his eyes, and peered in horror at Justin's petrified body where it lay wrapped in the coils of a huge snake at his and Lockhart's feet._

_The snake raised its head, swaying threateningly back and forth as it fixed golden slit-pupilled eyes on Justin and opened its mouth, jaws yawning wide as the exposed fangs dripped with poison, poised to strike._

_"Don't!" Harry tried to cry out, but all that fell from his lips was an incomprehensible hiss that trailed off into a menacing echo. The snake's head rose higher into the air over Justin's prone body, and the forked tongue flickering lazily in and out seemed almost to lick reptilian lips for a second, and Harry felt a horrible clenching inside him and dropped to his knees, fear and guilt twisting and squirming in his insides like something alive._

_The snake's head darted forward as if in slow motion, growing as it went until it was so large it blotted Justin out of Harry's sight and as Harry tried to cry out in a soundless wordless cry of dismay, the only thing that emerged in place of words was a Boa Constrictor that slipped and slithered out of his throat._

_The snake turned and winked at Harry, and as he watched it slide away in horror a low hissing voice trailed behind it;_

_"Brazil, here I come...Thanksss, amigo."_

Harry woke with a start, breathing hard and covered in a cold sweat. Lying back in bed as his heart raced and he tried to get his breathing under control, he trembled like a leaf. Listening to the breathing of his dorm-mates and Ron's low snoring and confident that they were asleep, Harry let overwhelmed and frustrated tears run down his face, turning his wet face into his pillow and weeping silently until he feel once more into the grasp of a fitful sleep.


	3. Learning

"The first thing that you should know about Duelling," Professor Flitwick said, drawing his wand and beginning to transcribe the key points of his lecture on the chalkboard in the corner, "Is that it is a relatively recent phenomenon. Latin-based magic - that is, Charms and Transfiguration - have been around since the height of the Roman Empire, before the birth of Christ. Other forms of magic; the Ogham of the Celtcs, Nordic Seiðr and many others, have been around for thousands of years longer than that."

Flitwick sat back behind his desk as he talked, gesticulating with his hands for emphasis as Harry sat still and straight on the other side, hardly able to believe that Flitwick was really going to teach him and not daring even to fidget or make a sound until it really sunk in that he would be learning to duel.

"But the art of Duelling as practiced in Britain only came into existence around the 900s, in the same century as the founding of Hogwarts. Prior to that, you see, though there had still been disputes and fights between wizards just as there were between Muggles, there had been no such thing as a system of magical combat."

Harry was confused; how could you have wizards fighting without magical combat? Some of his bemusement must have been showing on his face, because Flitwick chuckled slightly and nodded at him.

"Sounds odd, I know - but that was the way of things. If a wizard wanted to hurt another wizard he would simply Charm or Transfigure the same way he would get any job done - the only difference was that instead of trying to turn a table into a sheep or make the laundry do itself, he was trying to cause harm to another human being."

That made at least some degree of sense, though Harry still found it hard to imagine a world where Defence Against the Dark Arts didn't exist. He must still have looked puzzled, because the Professor looked hard at him for a moment, before continuing;

"What I mean, Harry, when I say that there was no Duelling is that the combat applications of magic were simply taught as part of the usual forms; no magic designed or created purely for combat existed, and that which could be used for such a purpose was not taught in an isolated fashion as a separate subject with the understanding that violence would be its intended use."

The clarified explanation now actually making sense to him, Harry noted it down on the parchment he had placed in front of him in the expectation that Flitwick might well ramble on and get somewhat off-track with information that, though not wholly relevant might still be quite useful.

He was also hatching vague plans of using tidbits of Flitwick's wisdom to distract Hermione when she got curious; Harry knew well that random facts were something that his bushy-haired friend found hard to resist.

"Now, the period of the 900s is highly relevant - it was the century of the Founders, saw the founding of Hogwarts and also the invention of British Duelling. Why this particular correlation of events? For a logical enough reason: these events are very closely linked. The Founders spent a substantial portion of their early lives travelling the country and the wider continent studying their chosen discipline, and it took them several decades to gather together the number of staff and students required to establish a school."

Flitwick paused expectantly, as though waiting for Harry to have some kind of epiphany, but he was finding it difficult to see whether or not this train of thought was actually going to lead anywhere related to the subject, so the Professor forged ahead.

"Both extensive travel and that concentration of young and vulnerable children resulted in inevitable conflict; due to banditry, Dark creatures, Dark Magic and professional jealousy and objections to their aim of founding a school. As a result, the Founders became quite battle-hardened, and were among the most accomplished warriors of their time."

As interesting as Harry found all of this history - which somewhat surprised him given how bored he usually was by this kind of subject matter - he was starting to get somewhat impatient, and found himself unable to keep from fidgeting slightly. Slytherin's Monster was wandering the school, there had been an attack only days ago and one of Harry's best friends was a possible target.

He didn't have time for waiting or learning; he couldn't risk losing his friends and so he had to learn Duelling now. But for the moment, Harry somehow managed to restrain himself, clenching his fists to hold back from jumping up and shaking Professor Flitwick to try and hurry him up.

"They were also, rather uniquely, in the unprecedent and historic position of being able to pass their expertise on to others on a large scale through this very school, and thus the reason the lifetimes of the Founders and the creation of Duelling match up is quite simple; the Founders of Hogwarts were the same people who established the art of Duelling."

Unable to hold still or stay quiet any longer, Harry burst out;

"Professor Flitwick? I'm sorry to interrupt - I mean, this is fascinating - but I don't really get how this is going to help me Duel..."

"Patience, Mr Potter, patience." Flitwick said disapprovingly, "How can you arrive at a destination if you do not know where you have come from or where you are going? I  **do**  know what I am doing, and I would appreciate it if you could put some faith in the fact that I have done this many times before."

Harry's cheeks burned as he flushed red at the reprimand. After Flitwick had agreed to teach him, and was giving up his own time to do so, Harry knew that he was being a bit ungrateful, and after taking a few deep breaths did his best to put aside his worries over not learning this fast enough and to trust in the Professor's judgement.

"Sorry, sir." Harry mumbled as he slumped guiltily into his chair, but he felt somewhat better when Flitwick gave him a reassuring smile; the kindly Professor having clearly forgiven him for his rudeness.

"Now, returning to the subject of the Founders - the four Duelling styles that they created that are named after them are collectively known as the Founding Styles, and make up the cornerstone of professional Duelling in both Britain and also to a degree in wider Europe."

Seemingly finished for the moment, Flitwick leant back in his chair and regarded Harry over his templed fingers, and Harry met his gaze and stared back questioningly.

"Well?" Professor Flitwick arched a bushy eyebrow, "Whatever happened to the impatient young man that was sitting here just minutes ago? Questions, Mr Potter. Do you have any questions and do you understand what I've just told you?"

Flitwick's voice was gentle and teasing, but Harry still flushed once more, feeling his ears heat up in shame.

"Well," Harry muttered, avoiding the Professor's gaze, "Did the Founders - I mean, are the Founding Styles - did they collaborate on the styles or did they develop one each?"

He raised his eyes to meet Flitwick's and Harry saw nothing but gentle good humour. He knew that the Professor had only been teasing him; it was just hard not to take it to heart when he still felt somewhat bad for having interrupted and been so rude after Flitwick was being so generous.

"Well done, Mr Potter - excellent question. The answer; they developed one each. Gryffindor's style was direct and straightforward, moving ever forwards like the House that shares its name and of which you are a member. Ravenclaw's was as tricky and crafty as she was, befuddling and confusing the opponent like a chessmaster slowly removing their options."

Flitwick leant back in his chair and contemplated the ceiling as he continued, voice low and hypnotic so that Harry felt he could almost see the Founders locked in combat, using completely different techniques but all equally as deadly.

"Subtlety was what Slytherin's style valued; choosing and controlling the battlefield and the terms of engagement, never refusing an advantage and exploiting or creating a weakness whenever possible. And Hufflepuff was stubborn and determined, and passed that on to her students, who fought for survival and to protect what was important to them above all else and always sought to survive the battle with their charges and values still intact."

"Now, it has been commonly accepted wisdom since the day of the Founding that a Duellist can only gain true mastery of a single Founding Style, though as all simplifications this is of course not entirely true. That claim is made because beyond simply representing an ethos and form of combat each Founding style is also, at its heart, a lifestyle, a philosophy, and a way of being. Therefore it is only through a lifetime's dedication and the cultivation of all the values and principles of a given style that one earns the rank of Master."

"And so, given that the values and principles of the Founding Styles are different and often diametrically opposed it generally is thought to follow that a student should practice the very basics of all four styles to determine where their affinity lies, and they should then spend the rest of their days focused on perfecting a Mastery of their chosen style."

Flitwick paused for a moment and contemplated the ceiling.

"It is worth noting, however, that despite the dual role of the Founders in creating both Hogwarts and the art of Duelling, there is not necessarily a link between where one is placed between the two."

"I'm sorry sir, but what does that actually mean?" Harry asked with a puzzled grimace.

"Very simply, Mr Potter, it means that the fact that you are one of Minerva's students has no special significance in terms of which Founding Style you have an affinity for. I myself happen to be a Ravenclaw two times over, but was almost Sorted into Hufflepuff and nearly ended up studying Slytherin's style."

Harry gaped at the Professor for a moment, and Flitwick just shrugged nonchalantly.

"The moral of the story is; do not assume that Gryffindor's style will be right for you and blind yourself to all other alternatives. There is no stigma among true Duellists as there is among the Houses; I have fought and lost against Slytherin cunning and respected my opponent's methods just as much as when I lost to Gryffindor aggression."

Professor Flitwick stood up and walked around the desk to Harry's side, and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Walk with me, Mr Potter. I have something to show you that should prove both educational and entertaining, and we can talk more along the way."

Harry was somewhat confused by Flitwick's sudden decision to take a stroll, but the gentle pressure of the Professor's hand on his shoulder kept him moving forward long enough for him to regain his wits and begin walking on his own again.

"Umm - Professor? What's going on?"

"Well Mr Potter, you didn't expect that you'd be practicing actual Duelling in my office did you?" Taking Harry's wide-eyed expression as confirmation that he had thought exactly that, Professor Flitwick chuckled softly.

"I keep so many books and papers in there that a stray spell could bury us both deep enough we'd never be found. No, it's where we're headed to now that will host your practical Duelling lessons." Flitwick flashed Harry an impish grin. "Does that answer your question?"

"Well - yes, I suppose?" Harry said, still somewhat unsure.

"Don't worry about it Mr Potter, you'll find out where we're going when we get there. For now, let me return to what I was saying; the Founding Styles and their not-necessarily matching the Sorting process. Given that you're about to start learning Duelling in a literal and practical sense, we must first establish which of the Founding Styles' lessons you have most immediate need of, and start you off there."

They were headed down a corridor that Harry didn't know now; he recognized it from wandering around the castle with his fellow Gryffindors but wouldn't have thought it particularly memorable.

As the Professor came to a sudden stop Harry barely managed to avoid crashing into Flitwick, his attention somewhat distracted by a large moving tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach a group of trolls to dance ballet that he had just noticed on the other side of the corridor.

"Now, the logical starting point would be the reasons you expressed to me for wanting to learn Duelling," Flitwick said, beginning to pace back and forth with the utmost concentration in front of the corridor wall, "Was it for your own personal glory or for the sake of learning itself; no – ergo, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor do not immediately suggest themselves. The desire for safety and planning ahead are somewhat Slytherin traits, it could be argued - just bear with me for a moment more Mr Potter -"

Flitwick had now gone past the same strip of wall twice, and every time Harry tried to look directly at where he was pacing to try and see why, he felt a peculiar twinge in his eyes and they seemed to slide away, "- no, you came to me for the sake of protection and protection for your friends and those you consider family, to be precise. Hufflepuff's style it will be for you, Mr Potter, at least to start with; a good defense is vital, after all. At a later point we can see what else interests you, but for now Huffle-there we are; just as I remember it. Fascinating thing isn't it; took me years of wondering and wandering to puzzle out the secret of its workings and use."

Flitwick continued babbling on, but it faded away in Harry's hearing to a muted hum as he stared in shock at the sight in front of him. The last word he'd heard clearly was Hufflepuff, but even the slight shock of that unexpected announcement had been washed away by the sight of what now stood in front of him.

Set into the wall past which Flitwick had been pacing, where Harry knew there had most certainly been nothing standing before, was a great door; easily twice as tall as Harry and wide enough for two cars the size of Uncle Vernon's to drive through with room to spare.

While he was just standing there gaping, Flitwick must have opened the door and already gone through, because Harry noticed absently through a haze of shock and awe that he could now see inside, where a long hall stretched almost the length of the Great Hall, wooden floor inlaid with geometric patterns and large windows that lined the walls allowing warm sunlight to spill in.

After what seemed like an hour but was probably only ten minutes of staring and grinning like a loon, Harry pulled himself together and stepped inside, and found Flitwick locked in a similar reverie. A nostalgic smile was on the Professor's face, and Harry thought it made him look almost young again, and content in a way that he had never seen the excitable old man before.

"Late autumn in Bordeaux the year before I joined the Professional Duelling Circuit." Professor Flitwick mused, as Harry remained silent; unsure whether the Professor was addressing him or the room at large. "I'm sorry, Mr Potter, do forgive the way an old man's mind wanders."

With an apologetic smile, Flitwick moved over to stand in front of Harry and then waved his hands to encompass the room and everything around them. "This is the Come-and-Go Room, otherwise known as the Room of Requirement. By walking as you saw in front of the wall opposite Barnabas the Barmy's portrait and fixing what you need in your mind, the Room conjures up whatever it is of which you think."

Harry stood just inside the doorway in stunned amazement still as Flitwick gestured at the expanse of the room behind them with a fond smile. "This room is one of the places I studied the art of Duelling, and I still recall my time here most fondly. As my student, I am passing it on to you; whenever you need to practice simply think of 'Salle de Badine' and the Room will allow you access."

Wandering further into the room, Harry moved to stand where Flitwick indicated at the other end of a rectangle marked on the floor in gold inlay. Flitwick drew his wand with a casual flick of his wrist, and Harry moved to do the same before aborting the movement at a shake of the head from his Professor.

"Now we begin, Mr Potter. It is Hufflepuff that you will be studying initially, as at least initially, it would seem it is Hufflepuff's skills that you have most need of. Now, what does Hufflepuff mean to you?"

"Well, Hufflepuff is where all the kids who don't fit anywhere else go, isn't-," Harry cut himself off, feeling a sudden wave of shame at the look of disapproval now etched into Flitwick's wrinkled face, and changed tack. "Well - the Sorting Hat said hard-work and loyalty, and you said they care about their friends - and, I dunno - determined and a bit stubborn and-" Nervousness suddenly hit as he was cut off by Flitwick's raised hand, but it died down again when he saw that the Professor was smiling.

"That's more like it, Mr Potter. In future, I would ignore what public opinion and certain members of both your house and Slytherin say about the Hufflepuffs. But your second attempt was much better; determined, disciplined and loyal. It must also be conceded that a little bit stubborn is somewhat of an understatement."

Lowering his wand, Flitwick bowed from his waist and gestured for Harry to do the same with his free hand after Harry had spent a moment in bewildered incomprehension. Harry bowed, feeling somewhat awkward, and itched to draw his wand as he stared down the Duelling strip at Flitwick, feeling somewhat naked without the reassuring weight of it in his hand.

"Your task is simple; defend yourself from me as best you can without your wand." Flitwick was raising his hand even as Harry opened his mouth to question, "I know you don't understand now, Mr Potter, but you will in time."

Flitwick raised his wand in a salute, and then brandished it at Harry with a reassuring smile.

"Are you ready, Mr Potter?" Harry could only give a half-hearted nod. "Very well then, if you are prepared - en garde!"

Harry was already moving by the time Professor Flitwick had finished speaking, but still had to let himself drop to the floor to avoid a jet of sky-blue light that whistled through where his head had been. Harry would have gaped if he hadn't been so busy dodging; for a man affectionately nicknamed 'Old Flitwick', the Charms Professor might as well have been twenty for all that his age slowed him down.

Flitwick's wand moved in a blur, jabbing and flicking to send a barrage of light of all colours flying towards Harry. Through a combination of ducking, dodging and weaving, Harry managed to avoid all of the minor hexes that Flitwick was throwing at him with no more consequences than a few cramped muscles, but after the first minute had passed and the Professor showed no signs of slowing down, Harry decided to reconsider.

There was clearly a point to the exercise - a lesson that Flitwick was trying to teach him; after all, the Professor had said so himself. But at this point, Harry had less than no idea what the purpose was. His lungs were starting to burn, and the spells were still coming, and so Harry stopped taking wild leaps to get out of the way and went for the more energy expedient solution of swaying mostly on the spot.

The jets of light were slowing down, but the calculating expression on Flitwick's face made Harry suspect that it wasn't because his Professor was getting tired. He dodged right and left in quick succession to dodge a pair of spells, red followed by dark-green coming close on its heels.

As he ducked under another spell and felt the wind of its passage ruffle his hair, Harry returned to contemplating what he was meant to be doing. Harry had yet to be hit, and he knew that it would be the height of arrogance to attribute that to his own skill, or even luck; if Professor Flitwick had wanted to hit him, then he would already be drowning in the effects of every spell the Duelling Master had thrown. So clearly, whatever the lesson here to be learned, it wasn't to do with how to dodge spells.

A pair of spells coming low and fast caused Harry to hurdle over the top, only to barely avoid a third spell coming in the wake of the first two that was coming at head height. A further flurry of spells at his limbs caused Harry to freeze where he was for a few moments, and then it hit him. Stubborness and determination, Flitwick had said, were the defining features the Hufflepuff style. There was a lesson to be learned here; to stand firm, to not dodge or run away but face a threat face-on without hesitation or retreat.

The prospect of being hit by one of Flitwick's spells was a somewhat worrying one, however, and so Harry deliberately moved his arm into the edges of one of the next volley of spells, and felt nothing but a faint cooling sensation on his skin. It seemed that the spells being thrown were harmless and so Harry held his ground as Flitwick began another chain of spells. At first they were aimed near him, as though Flitwick were trying to make him flinch, but Harry held his footing and refused to give ground, even though the proximity of the flashing spellfire made him somewhat nervous after his duel with Malfoy at Lockhart's miserable excuse for a Duelling Club.

Flitwick suddenly stopped casting, and Harry's ears rang in the sudden silence of his reprieve from the sizzle and hiss of passing spells. Neither Flitwick nor Harry moved for one moment, then two, and then the Professor began a slow and sweeping movement with his wand that looked almost like he was conducting an orchestra. Harry gritted his teeth, steeling his will not to give into instinct and avoid percieved danger when the attack came, and so when the spell came flying down the Duelling strip towards him like a shooting star, burning a white too incandescent to look directly at, he stood his ground and faced the attack without flinching.

As the spell hit Harry with a sound like a thunderclap, it felt like he had been hit with a lightning bolt as he was hurled across the room and onto the floor. For a moment, his world was deadened by pain; sight taken by the flash of light, hearing gone with the clap of thunder and movement and cognizance impaired by the waves of pain that wracked through his body, before he felt something cool lifted to his lips and found the strength to swallow. As the potion flowed down his throat, the pain retreated and the world returned, and Harry continued groaning more out of habit than any real need.

"Any pain left, Harry? Vision back, hearing restored?" Flitwick's face swam into vision along with his voice, both tight with worry, "I'm sorry for putting you through that Mr Potter, but it was a necessary evil. I told you there was a lesson to be learned here and you learnt it; above all else, the Hufflepuff style is about standing strong and neither giving in nor giving up. Standing strong, staying rooted and never giving in to fear is a hard thing to learn, but you've made a good start."

Flitwick seemed very old, and his eyes were dim and tired.

"Any other student I would have waited to teach them the second part to that lesson, but given how determined you seem to learn Duelling as fast as possible, I thought it best not to wait or hold back. It is a wonderful thing to refuse to relent in the face of fear; to hold your ground and defy the world, and it is a quality that all truly great men must learn. But stubborness is a double-edged sword, and the other part of the lesson is this; if you were to choose to adopt the Hufflepuff style, you would be accepting the burden of indignity and hardship and the possibility if not certainty of pain."

A surge of anger had been welling up in Harry as Flitwick spoke, but the remorse and regret that he could see written in every wrinkle on the old man's face caused his anger to cool.

"The true meaning of what it is to duel like Hufflepuff is to jump wandless and defenceless in the path of a Cruciatus curse to protect a friend, knowing how bad the pain will be from past experience and deciding that your friend is worth the agony, as Helga did for each of the Founders over the years. While the Thunderbolt Hex is a pale shadow of the Cruciatus, it is still unpleasant enough to serve the purpose. I wish I could have spared you that experience, Harry - being hit by that hex is far from pleasant - but it is the only way to drive the lesson home. The only questions that remain are whether you will go to Headmaster Dumbledore about this, who will doubtless be far angrier at me for teaching than at you for wanting to learn, and whether you can forgive me enough to continue studying."

Flitwick seemed sincere in his questions, and so Harry stopped to think for a moment about what the Professor asked. There was no way he would go to the Headmaster over this; Flitwick hadn't done it to hurt him, but to teach him an unpleasant lesson, and punishing the kindly Professor for that seemed to Harry to be quite wrong. There had been no malice or ill will in the act, and Flitwick seemed to have found no enjoyment in it at all, and in fact Harry almost thought that Professor Flitwick was punishing himself more than Dumbledore ever could.

And in that thought process, Harry found the answer to Flitwick's second question, and looked up to find the Professor gazing distantly at him looking like his mind was worlds away; locked, from the look in his eyes, in self-recrimination.

"Sir? Professor Flitwick?" Flitwick started slightly, and his eyes focused on Harry, who gave him a careful smile, "I don't see that you need forgiveness - since you were only teaching me like I asked - but if you need to be forgiven then yes - I forgive you."

A great weight seemed to lift off the Flitwick's shoulders, and he seemed himself again, no longer the bowed and ancient stranger that had momentarily replaced Harry's ever-cheerful Professor.

"Not 'sir' any longer, Mr Potter. You have just proven your worth to study duelling - with your consent I would like to enter into a time-honoured relationship more suited to this particular art; not student and teacher, but Master and Apprentice."

Master and Apprentice! What little Harry knew of wizarding Apprenticeships came in the most part from over-hearing the Seventh Years talking in the common room, and somewhat from listening to Hermione; but he knew that they were both rare and prestigious opportunities that people normally spent years working towards.

And an Apprenticeship with Filius Flitwick; Charms and Duelling Master, Hogwarts Professor and Head of Ravenclaw would be something that practically every student of Charms and Duelling in Britain would sell their wands to obtain.

"Yes, Professor Flitwick - I would be honoured to accept an Apprenticeship with you."

"In that case,  **Harry** , I think that you had better start calling me either Master or Filius while in private, and that we had better get started."

Flitwick offered Harry a hand and helped him to his feet before indicating that he should pull out his wand.

"Now, given that dodging and letting yourself get hit are not always available or wise options for a Hufflepuff Duellist, and retreating even less so, being able to pull off tight and effective shields is the single most important skill you will need. Allow your opponent to exhaust themselves like the mountain that weathers the storm and then attack while your opponent can no longer retaliate, or counterattack while your shield maintains your defence for you. We will begin with the single most basic shield, the  _Protego_  spell, which Professor Lockhart attempted to teach you before your ill-fated duel with Mr Malfoy."

 


End file.
